


Saints

by carmenta



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Rice
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-10-01
Updated: 2000-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santino, Louis, dusty statues and musings on religion and art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saints

White, that was the dominating color here. White plaster walls, white flowers, white candles. And in a sharp contrast the stained glass of the windows, brimming with colors. Wasn't there a rule of thumb for artists, that one should never use more than one primary color at a time to preserve the integrity of the image? Whoever had created those windows had obviously never heard of this. Red serpentines entwined with blue, then with yellow in simple designs. The patterns appeared careless, not a carefully weighed composition of fragments, just glass held together in a case of lead.

It seemed a sacrilege to allow something like this to exist. Houses of God were not supposed to be of such simple and unimaginative design; they should have splendor and be magnificent, faint reflections of His greatness and beauty. Churches should be dark, reverent places where candlelight seemed magical, where the moon illuminated the intricate patterns of the stained glass windows so colorful and creative that they rivaled the greatest masterpieces of art. Glorious images of saints captured forever in lead and glass.

Santino felt offended by this chapel, it appeared absolutely wrong, a distorted copy of what it was supposed to be. Too placative, too shrill and simple; far from his ideas of a holy place. A lack of imagination and of tiny details like the embroidery of tapestries. The complete lack of tapestries, for that matter. The few niches that hosted statues had bare walls, crude plaster instead of rich wine red or midnight blue velvet. And everywhere this horrible white. A church was not allowed to be white, it had to be kept in colors ranging from gray to brown and black in order to serve as a humble background and surroundings for statues and paintings.

The atmosphere was missing too, he noticed; the particular feeling of a presence that caused one to talk only in a hushed voice. A building, this chapel. But it housed no divine spirit. Still Santino slowly went forward, past the rows of wooden benches, not stopping until he stood only a few steps away from the altar. Again a stinging disappointment; grayish-white stone, a white tablecloth, two rich bouquets of flowers, so sumptuous that the petals of one wreath touched those of the other. And no crucifix on the altar, only candles and those lilies. It seemed a crime against taste to have white lilies in a church.

Bending his knee, Santino bowed his head, stared down at the floor without really seeing it. The gesture was prompted more by force of habit than true belief in its necessity. He wondered if the small tabernacle he had seen behind the altar housed wine and hosts still, or if the chapel had been stripped of everything that was not nailed down. For a moment he contemplated checking the gilded closet, but then decided against it. Looking into the tabernacle only to satisfy his own curiosity seemed disrespectful.

When he considered the amount of time sufficient, he rose again and went on to inspect the treasures that graced the walls. Louis had moved Dora's inheritance - if it was hers still, Santino was not sure if she had finally agreed to keep the things or not - into the chapel where those items belonged. Some of them were still packed into crates, wrapped and secured. Others, especially the taller statues, stood gathered in a corner, in severe need of a dustcloth. St Peter, St John, St Andrew, they all were there, a nearly complete collection of the disciples. Only St Matthew and St James were missing.

Santino had just reached out to brush a speck of dust off the Virgin's cheek in a beautiful marble Pietá when a noise made him turn around. Louis had returned, with yet another box filled with a jumble of small icons, paintings and worn books.

"I hope I am not disturbing your work," he said, taking a few steps away from the statues. "I can leave."

Louis shook his head, threads of cobwebs glittering in his hair for a moment. "Please feel free to stay."

Santino nodded a quiet acceptance and continued to inspect the items. A golden crucifix caught his attention; the clear rock crystal in the center had been hollowed and contained a splinter of wood which was surely believed to be of the True Cross. In the middle of all that gold and the colorful gems it seemed strangely out of place.

He could not help it, Louis' presence was unsettling him. The constant low noise of wooden frames and tablets being placed on the floor kept distracting Santino; impossible to continue examining the treasures the way he wanted to do.

Louis was sorting through a stack of carvings, the Stations of the Cross. Beautiful artwork, Santino thought, and old, very old, yet in an amazingly good condition. The varnish was still intact, no cracks could be seen. The edges looked somewhat knocked off, but that came with time and was probably unavoidable, no matter how careful the tablet was treated.

The back wall was partially covered with other Stations series already, and Louis was now adding the new one. The nails were already driven into the plaster, and he placed the tablets quickly, only hesitating from time to time to confirm that he placed them in the right order.

"The First Fall comes now," Santino said when Louis seemed unsure of which plate to place on the next hook. The younger vampire nodded gratefully, hung it up and then turned to look at Santino.

"And now? The weeping Virgin?"

"Yes." Santino waited until Louis had found the tablet. "Have you never walked the Road of Calvary in mass?"

Louis looked at him and offered a smile. "Sometimes. It was not a common practice in our parish, though." He placed the next plate, moving it on the hook until it looked alright.

Picking up the carving that showed Simon of Cyrene bearing the cross, Santino ran his pale fingers over the intricate images. Flaws in the carving itself became visible as he looked closely at it, scratches where the chiseling knife had slipped, tiny but still marring the picture. He handed it over to Louis.

"Why are you doing this?" Santino asked, looking at the statues, the tablets.

"I did not want all those things to remain stored away. They are made to be looked at."

"Most definitely," said Santino, more to himself than to Louis as he marveled at the face of a statue he did not quite recognize. The attribute was missing, had been left away deliberately; only the folded hands that clutched the rosary to the woman's breast indicated that this was a saint. As if a mere gesture could define sanctity. As if the only thing required to join the ranks of the saints was praying. Santino shook his head slightly at this thought. He had prayed to God for centuries, and that had not made him a saint. Rather the opposite when he thought of it these days, which seldom happened.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" Louis had come to stand beside him and was also looking at the nameless saint that had captured his attention.

Santino nodded in agreement. "Who is she?"

"David thinks it is Saint Frances," Louis replied, taking a dustcloth to clean the statue.

Smiling a little, Santino bent closer to the white marble face. "The artist did not do her justice then. Santa Francesca looked nothing like this."

Louis raised his eyebrows with what Santino considered polite interest. "You mean you saw the woman when she was alive?"

"The whole of Rome talked of her in... it must have been the turn of the century." Santino hesitated for a moment. "Fourteenth to fifteenth, that is. She was not more than an ordinary woman who wanted to take the veil rather than marry. Enough for the Church to proclaim her a saint and call her humble and pure. She did not fit her epitaph, but hardly anybody does. De mortuis nil nisi bene." Santino remembered her more clearly now, an average woman whose fame resulted from refusing to bed with her husband again after having born several children.

Lifting the statue, Louis cradled it in his arms carefully, carrying it along the northern wall of the chapel, occasionally stopping in front of a niche and looking at it, then moving on. He was trying to find a place where the statue would look good and pleasant to the eye, Santino thought as he quietly watched. Louis' criteria for the distribution of statues were based upon aestheticism; the way he slowly lowered the statue of St Frances on a socket and moved it around until the face was properly illuminated, showing off the finely chiseled eyes and cheekbones. Beauty was the main concern here, the statue looked positively enchanting in its current place.

Still Santino could not help thinking that it was placed too close to the altar, that this woman had only been a minor saint and did not deserve this very pedestal. Sometimes he truly regretted having been so deeply involved with religion, it tended to prevent him from enjoying simple things without having undercurrents of disapproval mingling with his thoughts.

"Marius was looking for you earlier this night," Louis said softly as he picked up the cloth again and started to work on cleaning rusty spots off white marble. Just conversation, to fill the silence.

"I have already talked to him", Santino replied. "But thank you for telling me, I appreciate it."

Even though he seemed to concentrate on his cleaning task, Louis did appear somewhat curious, only politeness keeping him from asking. His body language was clear about this point, the way he unconsciously opened up towards Santino in order not to miss a movement or a whisper. For a brief moment Santino considered speaking to him about Marius' request, but then decided against it. He considered it morbid enough himself, and was convinced that Louis would not like the idea at all. No need to bother the younger vampire with it, especially now that he had Lestat to worry about. Lestat, who kept assuring everybody who wanted - or didn't want - to hear it that he had been to Heaven and Hell, that he had talked to God and the Devil. That he had drunk the blood of Jesus Christ.

Santino had been avoiding this topic as far as possible, but it had proved impossible in the end to close his ears completely to the talk. Even though he had successfully kept away from other vampires discussing this latest horrid recklessness of the young blond vampire, Santino had been forced to give in and listen to the tale when Maharet had asked it of him. For her to beg a favor from him, things had to be way beyond her control and experience, and considering who she was, this was a rare occurrence indeed. She had wanted him to verify Lestat's ramblings, to find out how much of the story could have been picked from old Catholic beliefs. Santino had agreed to give it a try, he did not really dare to refuse the ancient vampire, though she had made it clear that he was not her preferred choice for the task. But there was no one else left who had been surrounded by the Christian belief for such an extended period of time, not anymore. Not since Armand had stepped into the sun.

Firmly Santino put all thoughts of this out of his mind. It was bad enough that Marius had asked him of all people to help with destroying all evidence of Armand's death. No need to dwell on this now. He had contemplated it far too long, had tried to see how far this suicide was to be blamed on him. And he hadn't liked it at all when his mind had finally presented him with an answer.

Louis cleared his throat, seemed to be waiting for something. Santino gave him a slightly puzzled look.

"I was asking if you are intending to stay here, at the Orphanage", Louis said, a slight smile on his lips. "I will have a room prepared for you."

He shook his head, noticing that some black strands had worked themselves free from the loose ponytail and were now tickling his cheeks. Slightly irritated Santino tucked them behind his ears for now.

"Thank you, but there is absolutely no need to do so. I prefer to take care of my accomodations myself." And he did not like it at all to have somebody know where he lay during the day. Sometimes old habits were hard to forget.

Slightly bowing his head, Louis acknowledged this and went back to polishing the bronze Mary he was currently working at. Santino forced himself to watch, he felt rather uneasy about having let his mind drift without even noticing it. He could not afford to be too trusting when it came to those of his kind whom he did not know well. And while he was rather sure that there was no reason to worry about Louis, there had been too many incidents in the past to let his guard down easily.

"You could stay here," Louis said at a sudden. "You would be welcome."

Confused Santino looked at him, remembering just in time not to let the usual calmness slip from his face. Only when he felt the familiar expression settle on his features, he met Louis' eyes, knowing that the moment of hesitation had been too short for the other one to notice.

"I was never doubting that", he replied, unsure whether he had violated something Louis considered a rule of hospitality. Different cultural and ethnical backgrounds could really make things difficult sometimes. He wondered what Louis was implying with the comment; after all his time as a persona non grata in the vampiric community was over by now, especially since he had what could be taken as an official statement from Marius that the Roman vampire considered all past issues between them settled. There was no reason for him not to be welcome.

And yet Louis had felt the need to emphasize the point.

Santino disliked it intensely not to know the motives behind such statements.

"Please forgive me for assuming", Louis apologized, placing the bronze statue of Mary in another niche; Santino was highly disapproving of both the place - the statue was facing north while he had been taught that all Maries ought to have their face turned eastwards to see the sunrise - and the statue itself, which was slightly too revealing for his taste. The Virgin was simply not supposed to show parts of her calves under the ridiculous mantle. This drug dealer Lestat had killed had not had any taste, it seemed.

While he was still silently fretting over the insensibility and distaste of the man, Louis' words caught up with him.

"Assuming what?" Santino asked, well aware that he might have sounded a little more demanding than he had intended to.

Louis suddenly looked uncomfortable; he bent his head, black hair obscuring his face for a moment before he brushed it aside with slender fingers. Santino couldn't help admiring the elegance in the simple gesture.

"Nothing." Louis shook his head slightly, unconsciously. "I apologize." It was clear that he didn't want to say anything else about the issue.

Santino considered pressing the topic, then decided to drop it. There was no reason to start a discussion or even an argument because of this, it would only be a waste of time. Nevertheless it bothered him, more than he wanted to admit to himself. The knowledge that he had misjudged the way others thought of him was nagging at his mind; Santino had always made a point of being aware of the impression he made on others. It had been inevitable to know it in the coven, where a misunderstanding of his own position would probably have gotten him killed, and later he had simply continued in this vein. To realize that he might lose the talent to do so was quite troubling.

The next minutes were spent in a silence only interrupted by the soft squeaks of Louis cleaning carvings and statues, and the occasional tiny thuds when he set them down on pedestals or against the walls. Santino had returned to examining the items on his own, appreciating a few, disliking some others. About most of them he did not care much, they were just ordinary; the only interesting thing about them being that they were old. But a few of the crucifixes and the icons were real treasures, intricately made and in an almost perfect state. It made Santino wonder how Dora's father had acquired them without causing an uproar on the art market, and especially how he had managed to convince the Church that he had a right to own those things. Santino knew the trouble and paperwork involved if one wanted to collect ecclesiastic items; the Vatican tended to be extremely uncooperative as long as the buyer was not a museum. The man must have had incredible connections.

"You won't be able to fit all the things into this chapel", Santino said, watching Louis searching a place for St Andrew and St John.

"I know." Louis placed them above a small side altar. "I was hoping that it would be possible, but the chapel is jumbled already, and there still are crates full of wood carvings and icons down in the basement." He sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. "I am running out of wall space."

"You could place them in the other rooms of the orphanage", Santino suggested.

Louis shook his head. "That would be disrespectful... Not everybody who comes here believes in the Christian God, and I do not want to force anybody to be in the presence of items only a few of us consider holy." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Gathering them here seems the best way to deal with this."

Looking lovingly at a beautiful St Elizabeth made of rose-tinted Carrara marble, complete with her small bucket full of roses, Santino considered this. "One should look upon those statues and tablets and see them as a piece of art, not religion."

"But would that not mean relinquishing religion for the sake of art?" Louis interjected.

Santino smiled ruefully. "Let's not go there."

"As you wish." The younger vampire sounded slightly confused that Santino wanted to drop the subject. It made him sigh inwardly. Why was it that everybody kept thinking that he would enjoy discussing religion at length? As if he did not have any other interests.

St Elizabeth eventually found a place near the door, flanked by the Archangel Michael to her right, his sword drawn and raised above his head, ready to strike, and St George, who was just stabbing his dragon with a long lance.

Sighing, Santino settled for a quick explanation. "Religion is always art", he said, pausing to find the right words. "It is a careful, finely spun composition of narrations, philosophy and imaginery. Dissect a religion and you find myths, assumptions and attempts to portray beliefs in any way possible. It takes a creative mind, an artist, to put it all together and weave a pattern of the materials."

"An intriguing idea", Louis said quietly, his eyes resting on Santino's face. "So religion is art. Does that make art a religion?"

Santino shrugged. "If you worship beauty, yes. Religion is always a matter of belief and admiration." He waved his hand at the triade of Elizabeth, George and Michael. "If you adore those statues, you keep looking at them, you picture them in your mind. Your thoughts revolve around them for a few moments. You think them masterpieces, and you can believe that the legends surrounding them are true when you see the embodiments. You look at St Elizabeth and believe that God really turned the bread in her basket into roses. St George really slew the dragon and rescued the maiden. When you think of something long enough, if your mind is occupied with it, this very myth can become real to you." He stopped himself, sensing that he was beginning to fall into the old speaking patterns of the covens. No need to become fundamentalistic and indoctrinating.

Straightening slightly, Louis ran a hand across the head of a bronze St Peter to brush away specks of dust, then wiped his fingers into one of the dustcloths.

"I prefer to think of art as independent from any beliefs. Religion has never been something I could truly understand or appreciate." Santino remembered hearing of Louis' brother; he should not be surprised that the younger vampire considered religion as something dangerous, especially in the wake of Lestat's latest reckless adventure. "Art is free and unbound, while all religions are full of dogmas and rules. They are like day and night. Religion destroys art." He met Santino's slightly confused gaze, tilting his head to the side. "Savonarola you surely remember, who made Boccaccio burn his paintings in the name of God. The destroying of Roman statues because they portrayed other gods. The burnings of books." His voice carried an undercurrent of bitterness, Santino noticed. "No art can be that cruel."

"Ah, but art attacks religion. The medieval illuminators drew donkeys wearing the papal ornates right into the bibles they copied, too tiny to be really seen. Countless writings denounce God. Crucifixes are turned upside down, dunked into urine and then considered a modern masterpiece." Santino shook his head. "No, Louis, religion does not destroy art. If anything, they wage a crusade which neither side will win. Because neither can exist without the other."

"That is your interpretation of the conflict", Louis said quietly. Santino nodded.

"I cannot agree with it, but the idea holds a certain fascination."

Again they fell silent, not sure how to proceed now. Santino wandered around, looking closely at a wooden carving here and there, brushing his fingers over cheeks of statues. Louis continued his work quickly and efficiently, and soon had nearly all of the treasures placed on the walls and the floor in a somewhat jumbled order. The chapel resembled nothing more than the storage room of an antique dealer who had specialized in ecclesiastic art, and who had a rather large budget for his acquirings, combined with a deeply catholic taste.

The last piece left to place was an oil painting in an old, battered wooden frame. The varnish had cracked in many places, and the painting underneath had been attacked by humidity, causing the colors to fade.

"I'll need to have this one repaired", Louis stated with a soft sigh. "Most of the pieces were in top condition, but some just show their age."

Santino looked at the painting closely. It had darkened and blurred under the furnishing, the image was barely recognizable.

Louis frowned. "Now where am I going to place this once I get it back? There is absolutely no room left on the walls."

Looking around, Santino saw that Louis was right, there was close to no wall space left; the only possibility would be hanging the painting among the many tablets showing the Road of Calvary. Louis only shook his head when he suggested this.

"It would not fit."

"Who is on the painting?"

Louis examined the darkened oil. "St Catherine, I guess. There is a wheel, so she is the most likely choice."

After a glance Santino nodded his assent. "You know she and I were born in the same year? Or rather", he corrected himself, "she was born into the world when I was born to darkness."

Slightly puzzled, Louis looked up again, apparently not quite sure what to make of this.

"It is a nice thought sometimes to know that she made it to sanctity."

The younger vampire smiled tentatively. "Are you sure you don't want to stay here? Then I could place the painting in your room. After all", Louis actually winked, "it is art and won't offend anyone."

Santino gave him a small smile. "I will consider the offer, thank you." He looked through one of the stained glass windows and judged the position of the moon. "It is getting late, and Marius is waiting."

"Then I will not detain you any longer," Louis replied. "Thank you for an interesting evening. I truly appreciated your company."

"A sentiment I can only return."

He turned to leave, but stopped on the treshold.

"And, Louis?"

"Yes?"

"Take away those lilies. White is appropriate for funerals, not churches."


End file.
